


midnight snack

by jammingkambing



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Angst, Cooking, Father Figures, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon, Zuko (Avatar)-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:20:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25456081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jammingkambing/pseuds/jammingkambing
Summary: A flick of his hand--the stove set alight--and into the pan goes the oil, then the onions, the garlic, the meat, the shrimp paste, the coconut milk, the chilies... At some point, after he starts cooking the rice but before he makes the final adjustments to the stew, Zuko hears and recognizes the other pair of footsteps that just entered the kitchen.orThe Fire Lord has a habit of going down into the kitchens whenever he feels stressed.
Relationships: Iroh & Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 224





	midnight snack

It is the middle of the night, but the kitchen is still lit and warm.

There is a cook lingering by the pots that are boiling the next day's broth. When she hears his footsteps, she stands to attention and bows when Zuko emerges from the relative dark of the hallways: and, illuminated by the three faint stove lights and the flickering fire in his hand, Zuko is no longer the grand silhouette of the Fire Lord. Neither crown nor pointed robes lengthen his shadow; now Zuko is only this young man who has had to grow too old too early, and it shows in the sash drawn around his waist too loosely, and the uneven fit of a robe that was worn too hastily.

The cook understands this. It is why she says, "The shrimp paste and the coconut milk are in there," and points to a shelf near the stoves. She leaves with another bow and Zuko notices that, at the hallway adjoining the kitchen, she takes a left instead of a right. A trip to the western wing, where the royal suites are located.

Zuko notices this, and notices the onion and the three cloves of already placed on a chopping board. Zuko wonders if it's too early to give her a promotion.

From there, he takes a small cut of porkbeef from one of the freezers; gathers the shrimp paste and coconut milk from the aforementioned shelf, and he brings chili peppers and seasoning from the front of the kitchen to his chopping board. The darkened kitchen and the steps he takes are familiar now: a sign that he comes down here too often.

Zuko doesn't want to think about that. 

Instead, he peels the onion and the three cloves of garlic and chops them up into tiny, tiny pieces. Then he puts the meat on the board and pauses. Zuko takes a moment to close his eyes and remember that the handle of the knife feels far too smooth to be that of his sword. The porkbeef under his hands feels like porkbeef and nothing else.

Zuko breathes.

The knife goes down, and the meat is quickly divided into chunks that Uncle can eat easily.

A flick of his hand--the stove set alight--and into the pan goes the oil, then the onions, the garlic, the meat, the shrimp paste, the coconut milk, the chilies... At some point, after he starts cooking the rice but before he makes the final adjustments to the stew, Zuko hears and recognizes the other pair of footsteps that just entered the kitchen. He's been expecting them ever since the cook took a left.

Zuko adds the last few chilies before turning to face Uncle, who sets two bowls down on the table beside the stove. Uncle leans closer to the pan and smells.

"It's ready. Nephew, get the rice," Uncle says.

The rice is ladled into the bowl, and Zuko makes sure to give Uncle a reasonable amount of stew.

"Pour more," Uncle says, and Zuko finds himself feeling grateful for the opportunity to pour the rest of the stew.

After extinguishing the stove, Uncle starts a fire in one of the roasting pits so that they can eat in warmth and light. They sit on the floor by the pit, and Uncle begins to eat.

Uncle starts sweating almost immediately. He sniffles, and his eyes have a watery sheen to them, but his bowl continues to empty. Soon he's almost finished his bowl whereas Zuko's is untouched. 

The hand holding Zuko's chopsticks is limp. The hand holding his bowl trembles, and Zuko's gaze is fixed on neither the food nor his uncle; he stares at nothing, eyes dull.

Iroh thinks that it would've been better if Zuko was crying or shouting. He would've known what to do if Zuko was still a teenager, back when his emotions manifested in loud, ugly bouts of misguided anger. Iroh would've known how to comfort a banished prince who was only trying to find home. Iroh knew how and where to guide Zuko then, and he still does now, but Iroh stills himself.

There is a small, heavy part of him that is wracked with guilt because he gave this pain to his dear, dear nephew. He buried Zuko in the graves of his ancestors, and he left Zuko to claw his way out of the ground to escape the ghost of his father.

Because Iroh had condemned Zuko to the throne and the throne's sufferings. Because Iroh is a father who would've done anything--everything--to spare his son pain, but he had failed at the most crucial moment, and his nephew will pay the price for crimes that his father, his uncle, his grandfather and everyone else had committed.

Some days, when Iroh looks at the Fire Lord sullen and exhausted from his duties, he considers removing the crown from Zuko's head and setting the crown on himself instead. In this dream, Zuko would not fight his uncle and Iroh would sign the treaties, arrange the terms, manage the court, talk to the diplomats, and, in short, rule the country just so Zuko could finally have the chance to relax. Run around. Flirt. Do things that other people his age were doing.

Now, Zuko only stares at the middle distance and doesn't eat the food that he cooked. Iroh sees it then: the droplets falling from his face into the untouched stew.

"Nephew," Iroh says, and he hopes that the weakness in his voice is not too obvious. "Your stew is delicious. You should taste it."

Iroh carefully removes the chopsticks, and holds his nephew's hand. Zuko's fingers curl into his uncle's palm. He utters the next words slowly.

"Uncle, the last time I ate was breakfast."

"Zuko," Iroh says. "Breakfast was at dawn. It's midnight now."

"I know."

"Why?"

"There were reports of an assassin working in the palace."

He is just a boy, Iroh thinks.

"Son, you must eat." Iroh presses the chopsticks into his boy's palm, and Zuko picks at his food. It takes time for Zuko to bite the first chunk of meat and rice. It takes time for him to take the second bite.

It takes time for Zuko to finish the entire bowl, and it takes even longer for Uncle to convince him that he'll sleep easily tonight because of the spicy food burning away the bad spirits. Zuko finds it in himself to believe in Uncle, and agrees to rest.

Before they exit the kitchen and return to the royal suites, as they are putting away the dishes, Iroh asks that Zuko notify him the next time he feels the urge for a midnight snack.

"Is it because of my cooking?" Zuko says with the faintest hint of laughter in his voice.

"You are not wrong," replies Iroh. "But midnight snacks are always better with company."

**Author's Note:**

> the recipe that zuko uses is loosely based off of a philippine dish called bicol express. bc ofc best boi would know how to cook spicy comfort food.
> 
> thanks for reading!


End file.
